


Photo Album

by tr_ash101



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Fanfiction, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Military Backstory, Remembrance, Secrets, Swearing, Trikey - Freeform, Trikey Fanfiction, photo album
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 21:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10705737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tr_ash101/pseuds/tr_ash101
Summary: Michael comes across a photo album in Trevor's trailer when he left to get beer. What he finds is mildly interesting. Cue my crappy writing and some nostalgia. Please read the note at the end.





	Photo Album

 Trevor searched through his mini fridge hesitantly for a beer, or anything to relieve the tension. "Shit! We don't have any beer Mike." 

 Michael laid lazily on Trevor's dirty couch like a cat in the sun, lacking the willpower to lift a finger. "Didn't you have another one under the table?"

 "Drank it last night. Whatever, I'll just see if Wade has beer. Wanna come Sugar Tits?" Trevor asked, reaching for his car keys.

 "Nah, I'll wait." Michael answered weakly, mentally arguing with himself. 

 "Okay Mikey, I'll be back in a bit. There's a pizza slice in the fridge." Trevor grinned coyly as he stepped out of the dirty trailer. "Are you sure you don't wanna come along?" Michael grunted in response, watching a moth buzz around the lone light bulb on the ceiling as Trevor drove his beat up car out of sight. 

    _He may like you._

_But he probably doesn't ._

_Give me one good reason he wouldn't._

_You say that every damn time!_

_How about you ask? As opposed to being a complete dick head._

_I can't ask! He's my best friend, it's weird._

_You just love chasing madness._

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_Let's not be coy, Trevor Phillips is the epitome of madness._

_Fair enough. Any therapist can tell us that._

_I don't get why you have to run away from your own feelings like a love-struck teenager._

_Fuck it. I'll think about talking to him, but I'm a good boy now. Mostly._

_You and I both know Amanda's a lost cause, and your kids? They'd love Uncle T to be their dad._

Michael argued with himself like this often, he never was able to agree as far as Trevor was concerned. He was gone for the time being, so a bit of peace and quiet was welcome. Michael heaved himself off the couch, eyeing around the room for his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael noticed the corner of a leather book, sticking out from under the cheap wooden dresser. 

 "The hell is this?" Michael squatted down, knees groaning in response. The book appeared to be a photo album, very clean, as though it was anything but neglected.

 "A photo album? Fuckin' hipster." Michael chuckled, eyebrows arched. Trevor was a lot of things, but he didn't strike Michael as a scrapbooker. _Would Trevor be fine with me looking over this? Probably not. Might as well..._ Michael opened the album, expecting an array of nude celebrity pictures, but finding a picture of... 

 Him. 

 The first photograph was of Michael, in front of a new car, knee deep in North Yanktown snow. It was a crimson Toyota 1998, they took this picture right outside of the trashy motel they were staying at. He kept this? After fifteen years? The note written in Trevor's slanted print read:  _Michael's nice car, definitely a bit jealous._

 The next picture was of Trevor, looking to be around eighteen. His dark hair was thick, and his face was pure sun drenched olive, lacking any facial scars. He was leaning on what looked to be a sleek fighter jet, with a helmet depicting the Canadian flag under his arm. At the height of 6'3, he towered over nearby pilots. He was ruggedly handsome, grinning widely. His loose fitting dark green jumper was held to his athletic build with a utility belt, equipped with a knife, radio, and a few lock-picks.  _Me as a pilot, 1983. Week after I turned 18._ Trevor's frozen expression depicted wonder, a boy who became a man to fast, but was enjoying every minute of it. 

 A locket was slipped into a little pocket next to the picture. It was silver, engraved with the sun. Michael opened it carefully, it was one of Trevor's few possessions. Inside was a picture of his mother, a beautiful woman with shoulder length curled red hair. Her eyes were bloodshot, with Trevor's familiar caramel color, but with none of the warmth. A small shaky script was written on a scrap of paper inside it: _I'll be home soon Mom, I'll make you proud._

 Michael inserted the locket back into the bag, the true pinnacle of a Mama's boy. Eyes wide, Michael flipped the page. It was him and Trevor again, taking a swig out of a flask, trudging through the deep snow. They leaned on each other, likely after a wild night of partying and drinking after a quick heist or stick up. Trevor had a fire engine red kiss mark on his cheek. Trevor's hair was noticeably thinner, possibly pulled out, and the beginning of his balding was clear.

 The following page was nothing but a zip lock bag, filled with folded pieces of paper. The annotation next to it read: _My failed letters to Michael. For fucks sake..._

  _What am I doing? I have officially infringed on his privacy. It was cute an all to see the photos, but this is wrong. I need to stop, if he catches me..._ Michael closed the book slowly, closing a life. A single photo fell out of the album, and floated to the dirty carpet floor. Michael reached for it, intending to put it back. It was of him and Trevor kissing.  _Oh My god, what the hell is this?!_ _Shit, when did we do this???? I know nights got crazy back in Ludendorff, and maybe we took a drunken dare to far..._

 Michael opened the album hurriedly, flipping to the empty page, with a single annotation.  _Love you Mike._ Michael was suddenly out of breath, stuffing the album under the dresser again, as Trevor pulled up to the trailer. Michael bounded to the couch, heart beating quickly, trying to look like he hadn't moved. 

 "I got the booze Sugar Tits!" Trevor called, striding into the trailer. "Did you seriously sit here the whole time Mikey?" 

 "Yep. And I ain't moving." Michael answered, legs forcibly moved by Trevor. 

 "Move over dickhead." Trevor flopped down on the couch with Michael's feet on his lap, handing him a lukewarm beer. Michael smiled, seeing the shadow of the young Canadian Pilot in his face. In his vacant amber eyes, he was still a teenager, about to take flight over Alberta's mountains. Trevor's hand was laid comfortably on Michael's knee, drowsily leaning back on the couch.  

 "T, do you remember that red Toyota from 1998?" 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! If I get enough kudos, I publish some of the letters that Trevor would have sent to Michael. If you want a fic about the Military photo, leave a comment and ask for it! 
> 
> (Also, I want to publish the songs Trevor listened to on the radio in 1983, so comment if you want that)


End file.
